By your logic, any member of any acting company might as easily have committed these crimes. There are dozens of theater troupes on tour at any given time. In each of those cities five or six plays, at the least, would have been presented on the same nights Bathory read from his works. And that does not count singers and circus acts and -- "
"I take your point, Diana. But of all those performers, Bathory is the one who revels in blood and gore." He dropped his voice to a lower register. "And what if I were to tell you that both of these murders took place under a full moon?"
That suggestion elicited a gasp from Mrs. Curran but Diana's eyes narrowed with a sudden increase in her skepticism. "Did they?"
"Who knows?" Foxe chuckled and seemed to relax. He reached for another roll. "That's what I pay you to find out."
"This is the Saturday after he's completed a stand," Mrs. Curran murmured. "If he is the killer, does that mean he'll strike tonight?"
Foxe looked pleased at the thought.
"Where is your full moon?"
Foxe ignored Diana's sarcasm, making her reasonably certain that he had not made the special effort to come to Mrs. Curran's house because he thought one of his reporters was in danger. He'd wanted to catch her before she left. That much she believed. But his primary motivation had not been concern about her safety.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Keep following Bathory. Tonight, too. Do not let him out of your sight. No delegating this task to anyone else." He wagged an admonishing finger at her.
"You think Poke and the other street arabs missed something?"
"I think he's a clever lad accustomed to living by his wits. He's not above taking money from Bathory to edit what he tells you."
"You cannot ask this young lady to risk her life." Mrs. Curran glared at Foxe, warming Diana's heart. It was good to have caring, loving friends.
With an ingratiating smile for the older woman, Foxe rose from the table. "No risk. I have arranged for her to have a bodyguard." He shifted his gaze to Diana. "Today, when you follow Bathory, you are to let him see you. We'll draw him out. When he makes his move, we'll have our proof."
"When he tries to kill her? Are you daft?" Aghast, Mrs. Curran fanned herself, her gaze darting from Foxe's face to Diana's and back again.
Diana sighed. "This is likely to be a tempest in a teapot, Mrs. Curran. But if Mr. Foxe is right, I have an obligation to find out the truth. If Bathory was responsible for those deaths, he must be stopped."
Investigating Bathory as a potential criminal, she realized, would give her pursuit of him, her invasion of his privacy, a certain legitimacy. She shot Foxe a considering look. Was he providing her with what she'd said she wanted, the opportunity to go after real news? Or was this just another ploy to trick her into inventing scandal?
It was not until he'd left and she was preparing to set out for Bathory's hotel to relieve Poke, that Diana remembered a remark the elusive horror writer had made to her in his hotel room. He had encountered "a particularly annoying" female reporter near the start of his tour, he'd said.
Philadelphia had been one of his earliest stands.
In her head, in Bathory's deep, resonant voice, Diana heard again what else he'd said. _"I dealt with her,"_ he'd boasted, _"in a most satisfactory manner."_
But he'd only meant he'd taken her to bed ... hadn't he?
----
*Chapter Four*
Once again, the weather was bright and springlike. The temperature had quickly soared into the fifties and the only wind was a gentle southerly breeze.
Ben set out on foot at mid-morning to run a variety of errands, including a stop at a candy store. His mother had a weakness for a particular brand of imported chocolates difficult to obtain at home. In the mirrored wall behind the counter, he could see Mrs. Spaulding plainly. He had been right. She'd not given up. It was a good thing he'd made the arrangements he had for Aaron.
"I take your point, Diana. But of all those performers, Bathory is the one who revels in blood and gore." He dropped his voice to a lower register. "And what if I were to tell you that both of these murders took place under a full moon?"
That suggestion elicited a gasp from Mrs. Curran but Diana's eyes narrowed with a sudden increase in her skepticism. "Did they?"
"Who knows?" Foxe chuckled and seemed to relax. He reached for another roll. "That's what I pay you to find out."
"This is the Saturday after he's completed a stand," Mrs. Curran murmured. "If he is the killer, does that mean he'll strike tonight?"
Foxe looked pleased at the thought.
"Where is your full moon?"
Foxe ignored Diana's sarcasm, making her reasonably certain that he had not made the special effort to come to Mrs. Curran's house because he thought one of his reporters was in danger. He'd wanted to catch her before she left. That much she believed. But his primary motivation had not been concern about her safety.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Keep following Bathory. Tonight, too. Do not let him out of your sight. No delegating this task to anyone else." He wagged an admonishing finger at her.
"You think Poke and the other street arabs missed something?"
"I think he's a clever lad accustomed to living by his wits. He's not above taking money from Bathory to edit what he tells you."
"You cannot ask this young lady to risk her life." Mrs. Curran glared at Foxe, warming Diana's heart. It was good to have caring, loving friends.
With an ingratiating smile for the older woman, Foxe rose from the table. "No risk. I have arranged for her to have a bodyguard." He shifted his gaze to Diana. "Today, when you follow Bathory, you are to let him see you. We'll draw him out. When he makes his move, we'll have our proof."
"When he tries to kill her? Are you daft?" Aghast, Mrs. Curran fanned herself, her gaze darting from Foxe's face to Diana's and back again.
Diana sighed. "This is likely to be a tempest in a teapot, Mrs. Curran. But if Mr. Foxe is right, I have an obligation to find out the truth. If Bathory was responsible for those deaths, he must be stopped."
Investigating Bathory as a potential criminal, she realized, would give her pursuit of him, her invasion of his privacy, a certain legitimacy. She shot Foxe a considering look. Was he providing her with what she'd said she wanted, the opportunity to go after real news? Or was this just another ploy to trick her into inventing scandal?
It was not until he'd left and she was preparing to set out for Bathory's hotel to relieve Poke, that Diana remembered a remark the elusive horror writer had made to her in his hotel room. He had encountered "a particularly annoying" female reporter near the start of his tour, he'd said.
Philadelphia had been one of his earliest stands.
In her head, in Bathory's deep, resonant voice, Diana heard again what else he'd said. _"I dealt with her,"_ he'd boasted, _"in a most satisfactory manner."_
But he'd only meant he'd taken her to bed ... hadn't he?
----
*Chapter Four*
Once again, the weather was bright and springlike. The temperature had quickly soared into the fifties and the only wind was a gentle southerly breeze.
Ben set out on foot at mid-morning to run a variety of errands, including a stop at a candy store. His mother had a weakness for a particular brand of imported chocolates difficult to obtain at home. In the mirrored wall behind the counter, he could see Mrs. Spaulding plainly. He had been right. She'd not given up. It was a good thing he'd made the arrangements he had for Aaron.
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